


a real lover

by elegantstupidity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Desperate kissing in the rain, Established Relationship, F/M, Patented Daydream Charms, Post-Canon, Tenderness, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Given the choice between Dream-Harry and Real-Harry, Ginny would go with reality every single time.





	a real lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [huffieimma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffieimma/gifts).



If anyone asked, though people rarely did, Ginny would say that the best place in the world was high in the air, only her broom between her and the ground. Even when a bracing breeze rifled through her robes and sent shivers racing down her spine, there wasn't a place she would rather be. Loose red strands, escaped from her braid, wafted right into her eyes. This would be more of a problem if she were on the lookout for the elusive Snitch, but with a Quaffle under her arm, it was only a slight annoyance.

And one that hardly registered compared to the tangled mop the wind had made of his Harry's hair, unusually messy, even for him. Though, given the way he kept releasing his broom to run his fingers through it, trying to get rid of the knots, maybe that wasn’t a problem that could be blamed solely on the weather.

Ginny glanced up at the clouds scudding across the graying sky, obscuring the sun. Rolling in from the horizon, dark, fat thunderheads loomed ever closer. If they wanted to actually play, make the most of this rare day off, they'd better start soon. 

“First one to 100 wins?” she called across the makeshift pitch. 

“Only if I can start at 70,” he called back dryly.

She laughed, executing a lazy loop in the air and reveling in the freedom of flight. “What? The Harry Potter can’t beat his girlfriend without a head start?”

“No,” he said, no doubt rolling his eyes, though when Ginny came right side up again, he was just grinning, wicked enough to make her stomach flutter. “The Harry Potter can’t beat his girlfriend, the professional Chaser, without a headstart.”

“As long as you admit it,” Ginny crowed, flipping Harry the Quaffle and thrilling in the determination that stole across his green eyes. That wicked grin turned downright predatory and the match was on.

As they careened through the air, ducking and dodging and showing off for one another, Ginny lost track of time. That wasn’t so unusual when she was on a broom, of course. The fact that it was Harry flying after her, zipping in and out of her line of sight, doing his level best to keep her from scoring, only made her want to stay in the air forever. Although, every time he whisked by her, sometimes close enough that she could feel the heat of him all the way through her robes, Ginny's determination to stay on her broom melted a little more. The buzzy, exhilarating awareness of his proximity was filling her up with a desire to chase him down that had nothing to do with keeping him from scoring. 

If she had her way, Harry would definitely be scoring soon. Maybe even right here on the pitch.

Though, even when the skies opened and released a torrent, Ginny wasn't going to let that happen before she'd gotten her win.

“Gin, shouldn’t we call it?” Harry called as he swerved by her, Quaffle tucked into the crook of his arm. He swiped his sopping hair off his forehead, though she was sure it would be back in his eyes in no time at all. “We can hardly even see the goals.”

“Speak for yourself!” she teased, circling him in a dizzying spiral. That wasn't enough for him to take his eyes off her, though. Harry tracked her steadily, giving lie to Ginny's next taunt. “Maybe you need some new glasses, Harry.”

Before he could protest, she darted towards him. In a move she’d picked up last week from one of the other Harpies, Ginny sideswiped her boyfriend, stole the Quaffle, and spun around him to take the winning shot. 

Of course, Harry didn't just sit back and let her.

He might not have been a particularly skilled Chaser, but there were few wizards who could fly like Harry. And when he wheeled on her, green eyes narrowed behind rain-splattered glasses, Ginny knew she had only moments before he'd be on her. Even with that split second of warning, she had to weave and dive and pull out all of the tricks learning to fly on the oldest Cleansweep Four in existence had taught her, Harry still gained on her.

Dipping low, her toes skimming across the wet grass, Ginny hunched over the handle of her broom, cradling the Quaffle to her chest. There was no way she was going to let Harry steal it from her as easily as she’d nabbed it off him. 

As it turned out, Ginny should’ve worried less about the Quaffle’s safety than her own.

If the handle of her broom hadn’t been so slick from the falling rain, or if she’d bothered to put on her Chaser’s gloves for what was meant to be a friendly match, Ginny certainly would have kept her seat when came at her from the side, shoving his shoulder into hers. She elbowed him back, instinctive. It might have given her the breathing room necessary to pull away and make her shot if it weren't for the way the wet sleeve of her robe tangled with his, locking them hopelessly together. Thrown off balance, they tumbled off their speeding brooms and skidded across the muddy ground.

When Ginny had her breath back, she found herself staring straight up into Harry’s green eyes, his weight pressing her into the wet grass. Automatically, she reached up and pushed the wet mop of his hair off his forehead.

“That kind of play would earn you a foul in a regulation match,” she observed, a bit distant. It was difficult to keep her mind on Quidditch’s official rules with Harry’s hips pinning her to the ground, his long legs tangled with hers. The cool rain wasn't nearly enough to put out the fire spreading rapidly through her core.

He grinned, sharp and intent. “Does it earn me something different now?”

Rather than give him an answer, Ginny simply moved her hand to the back of his head and drew him down to her. His lips were chilled, but under the focused attention of hers, warmed quickly enough. Of course, he did his part, too, letting his hands delve into Ginny’s robes to skate up and down her sides, drawing shivers even as every pass of his palms set her on fire. Oh, she felt hot enough it was a wonder steam wasn't rolling off her body in great, heady waves. She gasped and Harry’s tongue swept eagerly into her open mouth. Ginny paid back the favor when she wound her legs around his hips and rocked against the heavy, hot bulge beneath Harry’s robes. He groaned and nipped at her lips.

Her eyes drifted shut in bliss. 

“Gin,” he said, not sounding nearly desperate enough for her tastes. Not nearly desperate enough when she took her own rising heartbeat and desire into account.

She opened her eyes and bit back a frown.

Rain was still falling—she could feel each drop as it hit her overheated skin—but bright shafts of sunlight nearly blinded her, too. She put her hand to the ground, and even though she could see the wet blades of grass protruding from between her fingers, all she felt was soft cotton.

“Gin,” Harry repeated, a little more insistent this time.

Ginny blinked and the last wisps of the daydream fell away. The rain and the field and Harry’s weight between her thighs disappeared, though the feelings she’d conjured up in her reverie remained. The flush of her cheeks, to say nothing of the insistent ache between her thighs, couldn't be explained by the drowsy afternoon sun washing over her. She was still in her flat, where she’d been all afternoon.

That was enough to dampen the warm glow of arousal, just enough for well-worn irritation to rear its head again. She should’ve been off in Holyhead, practicing with the Harpies instead of working her way through her stockpile of Patented Daydream Charms. Of course, the team Healer disagreed, having ordered Ginny home for rest after she’d taken a Bludger to the back of the head two days ago. 

So what if Ginny'd had more healing spells cast on her than the other Chasers and reserves combined? Really, shouldn't the team just be pleased that she played so hard, risked so much? That was no reason to ban her from practice. Anyway, what good was this forced vacation when all she could do was mope around the flat; it wasn't as if Harry or any of her other friends could just take time off because she'd be bored otherwise.

Although, as it turned out, getting lost in a daydream or two wasn't such an awful way to while away the time until Harry returned from Auror training.

Which, Ginny turned her head and caught sight of her boyfriend leaning in the open doorway to her bedroom, looking down at her in faint worry, would appear to be now. 

That worry shifted into faint amusement as she blinked up at him, still pleasantly hazy from the charm. A little tension drained from his frame and his lean became more of a lounge, arms coming up to cross over his chest. "Good day?"

She hummed and didn't disagree—it'd been so long since Harry last had a break from training; she wasn't about to complain about her day spent doing nothing at all, much as it chafed at her—stretching among the rumpled blankets of her bed.

“At least one of us did,” Harry ventured, smiling back, not quite as warm as Ginny could have hoped. Still, his eyes trailed up and down her form, thankfully unencumbered by wet Quidditch robes. She'd hardly even bothered to get dressed today, still wearing the soft shorts she slept in and an ancient, shapeless sweater, its neck so over-wrung and stretched out that it always bared at least one shoulder. The last time she'd worn it, Harry had nosed it all the way down her arm, his lips trailing after, until the whole thing gave up on providing any cover and just pooled around her waist. 

In contrast, Harry was the picture of professional dishevelment. It was difficult for Auror robes, designed to hold up through furious duels and Apparation-heavy chases as well as the inevitable ink stains their stacks of paperwork precipitated, to look rumpled, but leave it to Harry to pull it off. At some point during the day, he'd loosened his collar and pushed back his sleeve, baring both the long line of his neck and the lean sinew of his forearms. His shoulders had broadened a bit since they'd left Hogwarts, earning a light layer of muscle in Auror training to fill them out, but even that wasn't enough to overpower the lanky lines of his body. As usual, his hair was a dark, messy tangle, no doubt made worse by the number of times he'd run his fingers through it, either in frustration or just from unthinking habit.

Suffice it to say, Harry looked _good_. Tired and more than a little fed up, but good. 

“Tell me,” she ordered, settling more firmly into reality as she took in the tense set of Harry's shoulders, the crease pulling at his eyebrows.

Ginny pushed herself up onto her knees and beckoned him closer. Harry came without protest, pushing off the doorframe to stand at the foot of the bed. She shuffled down towards him and as soon as he was in reach, put her fingers to work loosening the closures on his Auror uniform. First went the cloak, sliding from his shoulders and falling to the floor in a heap. It'd survived the rigors of active duty, accidental magic and Death Eaters' curses both; it could survive a bit of dust and wrinkles. With it gone, Harry stood a little straighter, like he’d shed more than the weight of the cloth.

He still looked tired, though, so Ginny used his shoulders to steady herself as she clambered off the bed. His lips quirked up in something closer to true amusement, and his hands cupped her hips, warm and firm and so much better than her imagination. With her feet on the floor, she had to stretch to keep her hands on his shoulders as she turned him around and couldn’t come near to getting the leverage necessary to push him down, but Harry followed her wordless directions anyway, his eyes fixed on her face. One dark eyebrow arched, a little sardonic, but Ginny ignored it in favor of getting him sitting on the edge of the bed. Once he was there, and her fingers worked into the knotted tension at the base of his neck, the eyebrow dropped. His eyes drifted shut as she smoothed her hands up and into his hair. His head tipped forward to rest against her firm stomach and her fingers made themselves at home in the messy thatch.

Harry sighed, not yet content but edging much closer to it. 

“Just more of the same. It's the Ministry, y'know?”

She did know, or well enough, anyway. He loved the work, relished rooting out Dark witches and wizards, and didn't even mind the paperwork that went along with it. It was everything else, all the parts that came with working around people who'd known him—and loved and hated him in dizzying cycles—by reputation for the past ten years, that wore him down. Harry might be the Boy Who Lived, savior of the wizarding world, but even he wasn't protected from the cogs of bureaucracy. He was only an Auror-in-Training, yet that didn't stop factions of the Wizengamot or various Department heads from politicking, trying to earn the Potter boy's favor.  

Sympathetically, she stroked his hair and tilted his face up to her. Only when she could look in his eyes did she ask, “Let me take your mind off it?”

Ginny’s hands trailed to the lapels of his robes, pulling them apart without waiting for his answer. Harry straightened, his eyes going dark and his own hands going to the back of her bare thighs. They skated up and down, fingertips edging into the bottoms of her shorts, and that was all it took for the arousal she'd worked up in her daydream to come roaring back to life. But where the feelings had been real enough, the man inspiring them hadn't been. This, having Harry right in front of her, callused fingertips dragging along her sensitive skin, was so much better.

Eagerly, her hips tipped forward when those fingers ventured further north, into the edges of her knickers. Her stomach clenched and her breath started to come in short, desperate puffs. If he didn't touch her, soon—

All her breath gushed out of her body the moment Harry made contact with her pussy. Coming up onto her tiptoes as he parted her folds, Ginny had to clutch his shoulders again for balance. He cocked his head to the side as he looked up at her, sly and smug all at once.

“Seems like you had a _really_ good day,” he said, grinning and easily driving his fingers into her wet center. Ginny didn't bother to bite down on her whimper. Harry wasn't wrong, after all. He had all the proof he needed, wrapped tight and slick, around his fingers.

Much as she wanted to invite him to make it even better, this round wasn’t for her. Marshaling all her focus against Harry’s concerted efforts to make her come undone, she shifted her grip on Harry’s shoulders and pushed.

He hit the mattress with a muted thud and stared up at her in unrestrained surprise and more than a little anticipation. Ginny just grinned at him and reached over for the bedside table where her wand waited. Behind his glasses, just slightly askew on the bridge of his nose, Harry’s eyes widened, and for good reason. With a flick and a swish, every stitch of his clothing disappeared, leaving him sprawled on the bed. Ginny gave herself a moment to admire him. A dull, red flush had already worked from his cheeks, down his neck, and was spreading over his chest, which rose and fell with his rapid breaths. His long, lanky limbs were roped with just enough muscle for her tastes, enough to make him surprisingly strong. As if that wasn't good enough, her eyes gravitated right to the lengthening shaft of his cock, growing hard and flushed against his thigh. Ginny didn't lick her lips, but it was a close call. A small sound escaped her instead, just loud enough for Harry to hear. A shudder raced through him.

Rather than reach for her, though, Harry's fingers clenched in the bedsheets. Apparently, he was content to wait and see what Ginny had planned. So, he lounged back, naked and ready to be thoroughly cheered up. 

More than up for that task, she set her wand aside. More like she let it clatter to the floor and did her level best not to pounce on the bed and get straight to work.

Even if she had the self-control to hold herself back, Ginny didn't have the patience to tease.

Standing between his spread thighs, seeing how ready he was (and knowing exactly how ready she was herself), Ginny didn't hesitate further. She reached down and took his hardening cock in hand. Harry jolted, the muscles of his stomach rippling and making his shaft jerk in her grip. The rasp of him in her fist didn't feel good, exactly. It wasn't the same as him fucking her, but the way Harry groaned and the tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief was almost as good. Feeling a little hum of power—one that had nothing to do with magic—zip through her veins, Ginny tried to make him do it again. Leisurely, she dragged her palm up, watching for his reactions. He didn’t bother hiding them from her, letting another groan spill from his mouth. His hips pumped into her fist, and she set up a slow, steady rhythm. Her own thighs rubbed together, trying to generate enough friction for a little relief. It didn't quite work.

Much as she liked the feeling of his cock in her hand—steel and velvet and heat wrapped up in one mouth-watering package—Ginny wanted more.

“Scoot up,” she murmured, leaning forward to press her mouth against Harry’s. He eagerly complied and stared in unwavering anticipation as she stripped out of her shorts, leaving her only in the over-sized sweater and knickers that were growing even wetter by the second. He continued to watch, bright eyes tracking her every movement, as she planted a knee on the bed and crawled up his bare legs. Well, maybe not her every movement, going by the way his gaze flicked back up to her face from where it had been trained down the gaping neck of her sweater. "See something you like?"

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't help but mirror her cheeky grin. "You know exactly what I like."

She certainly did. Which was why, instead of settling herself astride his hips, letting herself grind against the flushed, dark head of his cock and make herself come, Ginny stopped between his splayed knees. Keeping her warm brown eyes on Harry’s face, she bent forward and took his cock into her mouth.

Harry immediately went tense all over, his thighs taut around Ginny and his fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. He cursed when she bobbed down and again when she drew back and ran her tongue below the ridge of his head. She reveled in it all, the salt of his skin, the weight of him on her tongue, the stretch of her jaw. All of it stoked the fire burning in her belly, banked for now but ready to roar to life. Ginny pulled off entirely and licked up the entire shaft, collecting a drop of welling precome from the tip at the end of her lap. She pressed her lips to the head in an open-mouthed kiss, flicking her tongue back and forth just to see Harry shudder. He thrust up, just once and not nearly hard enough to take her by surprise, but sharp enough to make her pussy clench in anticipation of what was to come.

It was a long moment before Harry could do more than dig his heels into the mattress and fight back the urge to come, but once he could, his eyes flashed open and it was more than desire in his green gaze. His hand came up to cup desperately around the back of her head, fingers tangling in her long hair. He tugged, and Ginny willingly went, settling her knees on either side of his hips and his cock against the curve of her ass.

Tugged down to meet his mouth, Ginny had little choice but to kiss Harry again, not that she minded. He was sloppy with want, his tongue pushing wet and desperate against hers. Of course, she wasn't much better, moaning right against his lips and circling her hips in search of relief. He jerked, thrusting shallowly into the warm cradle of her thighs. Sparks flooded her vision, her back arching. Oh, that was so close to what she wanted, what she _needed_.

Ginny ground down, like if she was insistent enough, that last layer between them would disappear; for all she could feel every ridge and vein of his cock, they might not have been there at all. And yet they most definitely were, impeding progress with Ginny's every thrust. As her frustration mounted, Harry took matters into his own hands. Even without words, he knew what she wanted. Reaching between them, he deftly thumbed aside her knickers, making room for her to line him up and sink the first few inches onto his cock. Ginny’s eyes fluttered shut.

It didn’t matter how many times she did this with Harry, she always loved that moment he first entered her. 

Of course, she loved the following moments even more.

With a well-practiced flex of her hips, Ginny took him all the way down to the root. She sat still for a moment, the walls of her pussy fluttering around his shaft, her palms pressed firmly to his stomach. It wasn't that she needed to adjust to him—Harry was far too familiar for that. His cock was just thick enough to stretch her open, to feel like a challenge, one she was always up for. Their groans twined together as intimately as they were. Harry's hands landed on her hips, fingers gliding up the sweaty skin beneath her sweater. They splayed out over her stomach and down the patch of hair covering her mound, just barely brushing against her greedy, swollen clit. She shuddered and dragged in a deep, ragged breath.

Finally, she began to move. 

Hours of training every day had gifted Ginny with the stamina and strength to go the distance, and not just on a broom. Once they'd gotten this first, urgent round out of the way, she'd have the chance to more than prove that.

For now, though, all she could think about was chasing the high Harry's body under hers promised. From the first roll of her hips and his responding thrust, all she wanted was that bright burn of climax, stars and sparks lighting up her vision, and to draw Harry up that peak with her. Determinedly, she rode him, bouncing and rocking, squeezing his cock with her interior walls. Every movement drove her closer to that edge of oblivion, heat coursing through every last inch of her body. Her eyes kept drifting shut, but every time she opened them, she was met with the sight of Harry, sprawled below her, mussed and panting, and so intent on her, she almost couldn't stand it. 

It all felt so perfect, every shift of angle, every new spot his dick touched inside her, Ginny just wanted more. 

Harry was more than willing to give it to her, meeting her thrust for thrust. He held her steady atop him and shifted one hand between her thighs to swipe roughly at her clit. 

It wasn't until he sat up, though, one arm banding around her back and the other trapped between them, that the stars began to gather at the corners of Ginny's vision. She gasped and pulled him to her, crushing her mouth against his. Furiously, her hips rolled, every cycle driving him deeper inside her and grinding her clit against his hand. In a rush, so much like magic it was a wonder sparks didn’t escape her skin, Ginny felt the last threads of her control snap.

Her jaw dropped open, mouth sliding from Harry's as she shuddered and arched, her forehead dropping down to press into his shoulder. Through it all, she tried to keep up her rhythm, but when the sensations threatened to overwhelm her, making her stutter and stop in his lap, Harry took up the slack, thrusting up hard once, twice, three times until Ginny was gasping, her face buried in his neck. He grunted, too, his grip on her tightening almost painfully. 

Somewhere deep in the reaches of her mind, an errant thought floated:  _Give me this over my imagination any day_. And she knew it was absolutely right. Harry might not be perfect, might be a moody git sometimes, but Ginny wouldn't trade him or the way he made her feel for anything.

When the rush of orgasm had washed through them both, leaving them temporarily limp and sated, they found themselves collapsed back on the mattress, tangled in the blankets, but more importantly, together. 

Ginny pressed a kiss to Harry's bare shoulder. 

"Your day looking up now?" she asked, only half serious. 

"How couldn't it?" he laughed. Rolling her onto her back, Harry lifted a hand to tenderly cup her cheek. His thumb swept across her lips, and a swell of affection burned straight into her heart. Merlin, she loved this man. "With you around, it's hard to imagine a bad one."

Ginny was absolutely sure that wasn't true—not with the way she'd heard him complain about Ministry politics—but she'd certainly take it.

 


End file.
